Mass Effect: Activation
by Patient131071
Summary: Sequel to Instigation. Thaddaeus Shepard is now with the Alliance, and about to establish his terrifying reputation on a small moon called Torfan... Still don't own BioWare, though it should be confiscated after ME3's ending.
1. Angel Eyes

Author note: I know that strictly speaking, the Siege of Torfan was an act of vengeance for the Skyllian Blitz. I also know that for reasons pertaining to the plot of this universe, I prefer to have it the other way around. So there. As ever, all reviews are appreciated.

Edit: I have decided on a soundtrack for this work that I have to listen to to provide the appropriate atmosphere as I write. The track is 'In a heartbeat' by John Murphy, of 28 Days later and Kickass fame. Listen to it when things are getting dramatic, it makes everything better, honestly.

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Mass Effect: Activation

Chapter 1: Angel Eyes

Thaddaeus Shepard had no interest in the greater good of the human race. All he was interested in was looking after himself, and doing something he enjoyed, for instance killing people. Even this didn't particularly incline him towards service in the human Systems Alliance Military, for, as a great man once said, "If you're good at something, never do it for free." The Alliance wasn't known for being generous with its soldiers in monetary terms, or in any others, really. Most cold killers gravitated towards the various mercenary organisations, or went freelance. Thaddaeus Shepard was the best, which was probably why he was never given much choice in the matter.

Once he discovered his true calling at the 'tender' age of ten , he had enjoyed a few golden years of innocence running with a London gang called the Black Sun, before he managed to attract the attention of the bigger fish. One of them was called Miranda Lawson. She had employed his services in order to escape from the tyranny of her egotistical father, and join and receive the protection of the human supremacist group Cerberus. The plan had been for Shepard to join up with her. Of course, the second golden rule of the universe, after 'entropy always wins', was 'what _can_ go wrong, _will_ go wrong'. Murphy's law.

As it turned out, Miranda's father was slightly less worried by the thought of Cerberus' protection than she had hoped, and he had attempted to retrieve them. Shepard managed to foil the attempt, but was captured by Lawson's men in the doing, and had been expecting an unpleasant death, before the man had placed another option on the table; 'Join the Alliance, serve humanity, and, when the opportunity arises, kill my daughter.' Given that the alternative was nothing _like_ as straightforward as a bullet to the brain, the fifteen year old Thaddaeus had accepted the offer.

He was detained by Lawson's company, Rossum, for three years until he was old enough to join the Alliance. Clearly Lawson had taken the boy's notice that he _would_ have compensation seriously enough, and decided to deny him the opportunity until he was detained by his duty.

Shepard still snorted at the concept. His only duty was to himself, although he had been wise enough to conceal his psychopathic tendencies from the Alliance's rather primitive psychological examinations. He had gone on to excel himself in his training, proving himself as an incredible marksman and a brutal close-quarters warrior, both of which would have secured him a place as a front-line grunt, perhaps eventually earning him a position in command.

However, three things stopped this. Firstly, there was the fact that Shepard was seriously intelligent, with an IQ of 197, which clearly indicated that he'd be wasted as a 'squaddie', as he contemptuously referred to them. Second, there was the fact that while he'd been able to prevent a diagnosis of psychopathy, a genetic scan indicated that he had the 'warrior gene', a clear indicator that he was at risk, and he had displayed behaviour that at the very least put him on the autistic spectrum. These things made it clear that he wouldn't be a kind, compassionate, or even necessarily stable leader in combat. Finally, there were the biotics.

Shepard had hoped to conceal them, but a genetic anomaly on the scan combined with a rather _too _attentive close quarters combat instructor revealed the truth, as Miranda had predicted it; Shepard was a mutant, and much more than simply that; he was a human who had been given latent biotic potential _with no exposure to element zero_; simply through his genetics. The only case even remotely similar was the entire asari species, yet they didn't have the same instinctive grasp of biotics that Shepard did. He used them to guide his bullets and his movements, as well as holding his body together should it become injured, and he didn't even have to think about it.

Naturally, Shepard had 'declined' to become the subject of experiments ("Do you have _any _idea how much damage I could do even in one of _your _poorly equipped research laboratories?") relating to his mutation, which indicated to the Alliance yet again that a man whose loyalty is only to himself shouldn't really have a place in command of other men. So, they settled for making him an infiltration specialist in the first platoon of the 95th Marines, and giving him the rank of Serviceman 1st Class/Corporal. He had the authority to give his tactical suggestions merit, but wasn't responsible for anyone but himself. Shepard had originally reflected that that suited him just fine.

Then, the drawbacks began to appear. Shepard, as an ex-assassin, had no issues about working for people, and had assumed that therefore he would have no issues obeying orders, either. Then, on his first mission, a counter-op against a mercenary group that was overstepping its bounds into Alliance space, Shepard encountered orders that were... well, _wrong_. He queried the order, even made a suggestion to amend it in order to make it viable, as it had been _his _life at stake, which had then worked without a hitch, but at the end of the mission, he was officially reprimanded by the Gunnery Chief he'd been taking the order from.

Shepard was furious at the sheer _nerve _of the fool, but wisely kept his mouth shut, then went to his CO, a Major Kyle, and requested a transfer to his squad. Shepard respected Kyle, having seen a sound and stable grasp of tactics and a willingness to use good ideas _wherever_ they came from.

The other drawback, of course, was the call sign. During his London days, Shepard had chosen to be known to the underworld as 'Ombre'; French for 'shadow'. He'd liked it. It suited his tactics. But in the Alliance, you don't pick your call sign. Your squad does. Shepard knew that he'd gained respect among the platoon in his 'first' action, and on his part he trusted them to get their job done (just), but allowing a group of borderline _illiterates _to _name_ _him_ was pushing it.

Eventually, they gave him the name 'Angel Eyes', both in reference to the pale blue eyes that contrasted with his obviously Greek olive skin, and gaunt, sunlight-starved face, and to the flawless accuracy that made him their 'guardian angel'. Shepard felt that if that was the case, they could at least have named him 'Lucifer', or 'Beelzebub', or 'Samael', but there it was. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least they had recognised him as a superior being...


	2. Murphy's Law

Murphy's law

Their next mission was something slightly more significant than chastising some mercenaries. Batarian pirates had been operating in the Skyllian Verge, targeting humans specifically, with their rogue government's blessing. The Alliance had traced a group of them to the small moon of Torfan, but given the fact that they were hiding underground beneath a heavily populated urban area, an orbital bombardment was out of the question if the Alliance ever wanted a spot on the Council. So, naturally, the marines were being sent in to purge the Batarians from the ground. The 95th already had a reputation for performing well in urban environments, and was tasked with breaking up the command structure of the privateers and breaking them open for the rest of the human forces.

Shepard's transfer to Major Kyle's platoon didn't go through, regrettably, but he was removed from his old squad and placed under Lieutenant McCarthy, a Scottish berserker who somehow had a remarkably good record for keeping his people alive. Shepard was more or less content at that. He was, however, displeased with how far behind Cerberus the Alliance seemed to be; most of them had never even _heard_ of thermal clip technology, let alone been provided with weapons using them. So, instead, you were expected to fire infrequently and hope for the best. Just wonderful.

The shuttles moved in towards the drop point, and Shepard compulsively checked his Punisher sniper rifle, and Karpov heavy pistol, as well as the edge on his black lightweight carbon composite stiletto knife. All were in full working order; he holstered the pistol and sheathed the knife, but cradled the rifle as his platoon came in to land. McCarthy's team was intended to be dropped in an open area about half a kilometre from the entrance to the subterranean tunnels, and quietly make its way through the urban area towards where the vast majority of communications transmissions were coming from. Once there, they were to eliminate any and all command personnel and equipment, before deploying a timed explosive to rip a hole in the Batarian trench lines immediately above. The other infiltration team, under the command of Major Kyle, were assaulting what was believed to be the engineering and maintenance hub for the privateer forces, before making their way to the trenches and clearing them with the aid of McCarthy.

The plan seemed plausible enough, but Shepard's cynical mind kept one thought above all others; the adage that _no_ plan, however brilliant, ever _quite_ survives contact with the enemy. The squad was dropped off from the shuttle, and the squad moved immediately into the cover of the nearest block of apartments, which were almost invariably linked about halfway up by a covered bridge. Shepard was scanning the area for signs of ambush; the Batarians knew that the Alliance had to attack them from the ground, and they knew the Alliance's tactics; send in a team behind enemy lines to bugger things up for them, then slaughter the bastards.

So where the fuck was the enemy? Granted, the idea was to hit them where they were weak, preferably without letting them know the enemy was coming, but Intel had said that stealth was heavily advised _as the enemy maintained a significant presence in the area_. And there was no sign of them.

Shepard went to McCarthy with his concerns.

"Sir, we're almost certainly walking into an ambush."

"I know, Corporal, but we still have an objective to complete. In my experience, the only way to beat an ambush is to go in hard and fast and react quickly to their presence so they lose the advantage."

Shepard was not reassured. As the group's stealther, he took point, watching the area carefully for any signs of the enemy, and finding none. He chose a route that would provide a good vantage point over the rest of the terrain, moving via the apartment blocks and the walkways that connected them towards the entrance to the bunker network. The fact that 'a densely populated urban area' was not only empty of the enemy, but people of any kind, was making some of the other squad members as uneasy as he was. Jenkins and O'Reilly, a spacer child and an Irish thief respectively, were watching Angel Eyes intently, mimicking his moves exactly and using the cover he did.

Thaddaeus found it downright irritating. He didn't want any childish adulation; he wanted to be left alone to get things done properly and stay alive.

That quickly became more complicated. As they approached the third bridge across to a new building, and the penultimate one before they reached the objective, Thaddaeus hesitated. Something wasn't right; not just the general atmosphere, his nerves had been screaming at him about that for about ten minutes now, but something about _this specific bridge_ was different. The differences between this one and the previous ones seemed unimportant, though. There was slightly more in the way of general clutter in the form of storage crates than on the previous bridges, but something else...

"What's the hold-up, Corporal?" McCarthy's Scottish accent boomed out from behind him. Shepard wanted to throttle him. He quickly signalled without turning around for the group to stop and shut up, and tried to concentrate. There was an anomaly here, but what?

The pattern was different. The clutter of the previous bridges had been chaotic, and so each bridge had been quite different in terms of where the cover was. The clutter here looked similar to that of the previous bridge, it looked... contrived. Shepard looked again, looking for a pattern within the layout that could give a reason...

There was a group of crates near every connection to the suspension cables and scaffold that kept the bridge structurally sound. A few other crates were scattered around to make thing look random, but the entire setup was artificial. He turned.

"Back up," he said, ever so softly. Then, he heard the slightest sound behind him. An electronic beep.


	3. Brute Force and Ignorance

Brute Force and Ignorance

The bridge exploded, the shockwave erasing Shepard's shields and flinging him forwards into his comrades, scraping him and bruising him with shrapnel that was flung his way, fortunately failing to do him any serious damage due to the often inconvenient heavy armour that it was regulation to wear.

_Wouldn't have been necessary without those damned regulations about chain of command._ Thaddaeus thought vindictively, as he scrambled to his feet and scooped up his sniper. He turned to look at the bridge, and found himself staring down the muzzle of a pistol-

A second before the Batarian holding it was flung off of the bridge by a shotgun blast against its armour. Shepard turned to see McCarthy behind him, and nodded his thanks, before sighting down his rifle across the bridge. A small force of privateers were opening fire with assault rifles, but their fire was clearly ineffective, so Shepard ignored it and continued to survey the area. The ground was practically crawling with the enemy, and it was clear that they wouldn't be alone up there for long.

"Casualties?" McCarthy demanded of them.

"A few minor flesh wounds, but we're all combat worthy." The Service Chief reported.

"Good. Corporal, what's our route?"

"Down, but if we go straight back we'll have to fight our way through the entire time." He didn't have to look hard for an alternative. The explosion had ripped a chunk out of the floor they were on, making a quick drop to the next floor down plausible. "Over the edge." He slung his sniper rifle, as it wasn't suitable for close quarters work, and drew his pistol and his carbon stiletto, before leading the way, carefully dropping down a floor but ensuring that his forward momentum couldn't send him plummeting further than he intended. He spun, and found that the room was empty, for now.

"It's clear." He reported, and the rest of the men followed him down, first being Jenkins, who went down a little too hurriedly, and found himself heading over the edge-

Before he was yanked back off of his feet by Shepard, who didn't even bother looking at him before he said into his comm. Unit "Take it _slowly_, or you'll be dropping more than one floor." The rest of the squad heeded his warning, and within half a minute, they were a floor closer to the ground.

Of course, this didn't solve their predicament. The pirates had been watching from across the bridge, and had doubtless reported their movements; however, due to the haphazard nature of Torfan's architecture, _this_ floor had an external staircase that led down to the ground that would avoid the ambush squads that would inevitably have been deployed behind them. Shepard led the way through the building, paying no heed to the Lieutenant's bellowed explanation to Command of their change in status, from 'apparently undetected' to 'up to our necks in bullets'. He heard gunfire behind him, the chattering of assault rifles, the cracking of pistols, and the boom of the Scotsman's shotgun, but refrained from interfering. From a pragmatic perspective, it was easiest to say that he 'trusted' his comrades to get their job done. To be more precise, however, it would be better to say that there wasn't much he could do about what was happening to the rear without neglecting the vanguard, which would be more likely to result in his death since he _was_ the vanguard.

They made it to the external staircase, and Thaddaeus narrowly managed to avoid having his head blown off by a high velocity sniper round as he cautiously pushed his head through the doorway.

"Ooh, competition." He muttered, deploying his sniper rifle again now that they were out in the open, crouching, then ducking into the open to squeeze off a shot just above where he had seen the muzzle flash. He just heard a brief, agonized yell, and smiled mercilessly. "Or perhaps not. Amateur." He sniffed disdainfully, then hurried down the staircase to the next option for cover.

"Sitrep, Corporal. We're under fire in here."

"Fair number of snipers. They aren't great, but give me a minute or we'll take casualties."

"Make it quick, or we'll take casualties anyway."

Thaddaeus could probably have picked off all of the snipers worth worrying about in about thirty seconds if he didn't have to worry about his damned weapon overheating. As it was, he used the thirty seconds to pick off five of the best, before McCarthy yelled over his mike

"THEY'RE BRINGING UP HEAVY WEAPONS! EVERYBODY OUT! SHEPARD, YOU'D BETTER BE FUCKING READY FOR US!"

_Charming._ Angel Eyes picked off another batarian with a snapshot, then moved down into the next spot of cover to give room for the squad. There, he found a group of melee specialists that had been moving up to ambush him and his comrades. Shepard had no time to change weapons, or to fire his rifle accurately. He did the only thing he could. He dropped the bloody thing and charged them.

The first one had his shotgun knocked aside so that the shot went awry, then Shepard followed up with a stunning blow to the four-eyed head, before thrusting him back into his comrades, allowing Shepard to close with them, drawing his knife in his right hand as he did so, so that when he reached them, he could feint a jab at one of their eyes, before toppling them off of the staircase. They were still five floors up.

Behind him, his squad rushed out of the building and into what cover there was, before laying down a withering hail of fire that shredded the remaining batarians. Shepard sheathed his blade, then retrieved his sniper, before picking off another pirate at long range.

"You've got some skill when it comes to close quarters." McCarthy grudgingly conceded behind him, from cover. "Why do you bother poncing about with that damned pretentious sniping lark?"

"Because it's more interesting."

The Scotsman grunted sourly in place of a proper retort, causing Shepard to smirk in victory, before leading the Alliance personnel down to the ground, pursued by the privateer heavy weapons team. From the back of the formation, McCarthy demanded a sample of the explosives the marines were carrying, and collected them into a package that he left on the second floor, at Shepard's suggestion. They then completely ignored the projectiles surging around them, and rushed to the bottom before the timers ran out. They made it, and just about got clear, before the bundle went off with an impressive display of fire and a rain of glowing shrapnel. The Scotsman and Angel eyes both spared themselves a brief glance at the aftermath, their insufferable grins almost identical.

"That was almost stylish, coming from _you_." Thaddaeus commented.

"Piss off, you English ponce." McCarthy responded, but without any real venom in his voice.

The marine formation swept through the firestorm, moving steadily towards the entrance to the bunker system, dealing ruthlessly with all opposition that they faced, storming barricades and charging defensive formations without taking a single fatality. They reached the entrance to the bunkers, and held the position for a second whilst the Scotsman gave Command a brief update, before addressing his men.

"Time to go in and _really_ hurt these four eyed bastards. I'll take point, Shepard, you act as rearguard."

Shepard nodded acknowledgement, then picked off another charging batarian. McCarthy grinned in spite of himself, fired a round off of his shotgun into the hinges of the door that led into the bunker system, and smashed the door in with a violent kick, before leading the way in flanked by two other vanguard troops-

Half a second before the entrance exploded.


	4. Good Luck Doesn't Last

Good Luck Doesn't Last

The Scotsman and the two men flanking him could only have been vaporised; such was the sheer _intensity _of the explosion that erupted from the bunker system. A further marine from the team of twelve was buried under the rubble, and the rest knocked flat by the shockwave and the shrapnel. As one of the furthest from the entrance, Shepard recovered first, groggily picking up his sniper before clambering to his feet and shaking off the daze that afflicted him.

The batarians themselves seemed astonished by the blast that had erupted out of the network that contained their headquarters, and so had been just as paralysed into inaction as the marines. However, as some of them noticed surviving humans, their hostile impulses became apparent once more, and the sniper was singed by shots with regular and increasing frequency as the enemy approached and he endeavoured to get his comrades back on their feet.

The other seven men were largely unscathed, with superficial cuts, bruises and burns, but most of all, they were simply shocked and disorientated by the explosion, and, most of all, by the sudden and total reversion of their good luck. Jenkins summed up their attitude, bewailing

"But we were doing so fucking _well_..."

"And now four men are dead, Private, and unless you want to join them you're going to stop whinging." Shepard rounded on him harshly."Good luck _never_ lasts, it's just random coincidence that leaves events in your favour, and there are _always_ more ways for something to go wrong than right. Get over it and get on with it and you might leave here with your skin more or less intact."

"He's right." The Service Chief said wearily. Shepard had never paid too much attention to him, having assessed him as reasonable second officer material, but not burdened with the gift of being able to handle overall command. "We need to continue and complete our objective. We've still got enough men to fight our way to the next entrance over, and from there we can-"

"Die in the exact same _bloody_ way as McCarthy and his damned berserkers. What is it with you Alliance _pissants_ and not being able to bloody think?" Thaddaeus interrupted acidy. The NCO gaped at him. He gritted his teeth, and explained, attempting to be patient, "It'll be rigged in the exact same way as the rest of the entrances. Do you really think that these people are _only_ capable of mounting a conventional defence? Their commanders put them out here; probably some of their worst men, to cull some of us if they could, lull us into a false sense of bravado and blow us all to kingdom come as soon as we entered the base."

His superior's face reddened at Shepard's condescending, superior tone. "_I_ am in command here, Corporal, not _you_."

Shepard responded by raising his sniper rifle and resting it on the collar of the man's armour. The Service Chief paled; terrified of the cold bastard who was so unmoved by the annihilation of a third of their squad, and shocked by his threatening action.

"And therein, methinks, lieth theproblem." Shepard said quietly. "You are not qualified to lead us through this mission safely. _I am_. If this upsets you, and you feel unable to obey my orders," he glanced at the rest of the group "I will be forced to either kill you or leave you for the batarians." He turned back to the NCO. "Capiche?"

The man swallowed visibly, then nodded, shying away from the muzzle of the gun at his throat. "Yes, sir."

"Further vindication for me." Shepard muttered. "For a soldier, you've got precious little in the balls department, Service Chief." He raised his voice to address his troops over the gunfire that was only increasing in volume. "Chaps, I need your remaining explosives, besides the one we're using to blow up the command centre. Hand them over, then give me some suppressing fire. We're going in _this_ entrance, and we're going to blow it open."

The marines quickly complied, seeing the sense in his suggested course of action, as it would be absurd and unnecessary for the batarians to lay multiple traps in an entrance when the first would seal it off. Shepard climbed up the rubble, past the point where the explosion had clearly gone off, and placed the charges so that a directional blast could occur that would blow the debris clear of the bunker network without bringing any more down. He would have ordered the squad's demo specialist to do it, but he was one of McCarthy's berserkers; out of the picture now. It was only through damned luck that they even had the fucking _bomb_; as it was more tech than anything else it was being carried by the squad's engineer.

He had the men pull back to his position, and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as the batarians rushed forwards again, practically baying for the kill. They were precisely on the receiving and of the directional blast and the resultant rubble that was cleared away from the entrance; an unpleasant experience that many of them didn't survive.

The explosion left a gaping wound in the structure, a wound that Shepard's marines now entered, with him in the lead, pistol and stiletto at the ready. They managed to make considerable progress through the eerie subterranean network unhindered, and largely unpursued by the batarian forces to their rear; as the Bastard had surmised, the batarians had discounted an assault on this front entirely. However, as they began to reach areas that had lighting that hadn't been knocked out by the two explosions, they also began to reach the batarian counter-attack, which involved quite frankly suicidal use of heavy weapons and explosives.

Something didn't feel right about these people to Shepard. _They're _slavers_, freelancers, at most privateers, and they therefore have an interest in self preservation above everything else; they're in it for the profits. They shouldn't be throwing themselves at us like this..._

Shepard managed to limit damage by deploying two men flanking him with assault rifles that were under orders to shoot at anything moving and only stop shooting once he told them to, meaning the four eyed apparent fanatics couldn't get close enough to get in a decent shot or blow themselves up and take any marines with them. However, the formation was beginning to feel the pressure of the opposition as more of them advanced behind them, driving them forwards with increasing speed, forcing them into the suicide elements in front with less and less time to bring them down.

Shepard was having to bring down one of every three opponents that appeared personally, now; his squad just wasn't fast enough, and their weapons were overheating. Lethal snap-headshots were the only viable option, and as an assassin, he was the only one with the skills to do it; and if this went on for much longer, even _he _wouldn't be able to cope anymore, he realised, and that gave him the furious, brutal strength to act all the more quickly, until, somehow, they managed to reach the command centre.

Shepard, knowing full well that it could well be another snare, but also realising that they had no time to check, nodded to one of his men, who parodied the Scotsman's earlier ill-fated action, shooting off the hinges, before breaking the door in, bursting through-

Getting off a strangled curse before being cut off by an angry fusillade of bullets that whistled out into the corridor to smash into the wall. Shepard roared a curse, snatched a grenade launcher from a batarian corpse, fired a round blindly through the door, before ducking through after it, not even waiting for the explosion, and squeezing off another explosive round at the startled pack of batarians at the centre, blowing four of them away and sending the others reeling, before he looked down and saw the shredded and bloody corpse of the marine that could easily have been him if he'd been less careful.

It was Jenkins. Shepard snatched up the assault rifle from his already cold hands, set it to fully automatic, and sprayed death at those bloody fanatics; they could never be reasoned with, never talked to, they were an evolutionary dead end in a world where you had to change to survive, and he was doing everyone and more importantly himself a favour by slaughtering them like the mindless dogs they were-

They were all dead. The gun was overheating in Shepard's hands; he flung it from him before it could burn him, and turned to look at his squad. The Service Chief and O'Reilly stood behind him; the other four men were holding the batarians in the corridor. The two men in the room were looking at him as if he were going to snap at any moment; little did they know he'd _never_ really been in one piece.

"Prep. the charges." He ordered coolly, controlling his voice, keeping it polite, urbane, but with that hint of gravity and menace. It served as a startling counterpoint to his frenzied actions of but a moment ago, and only seemed to disturb his men further. Shepard didn't care as long as they followed his commands.

They did.


	5. Minimum Safe Distance

Minimum Safe Distance

Shepard allowed himself to take stock of the situation whilst the Service Chief moved out into the corridor to replace the engineer, who had entered with the explosive. What he saw didn't particularly please him. Dingy lighting, somewhat less than sanitary conditions which would have been so even before the bodies had been altered from living to dead, minimal hardware besides the communications antenna and the surveillance screens...

"This is no command centre." He growled. O'Reilly looked at him questioningly. "It's a decoy, a dud, a honeyed trap for us to hit and get killed in the attempt. Look at this place. No crime lord, no pirate chief, no captain of mercenaries or privateers with any self respect or delusions of grandeur could put up with this. And those people are our quarry. They send all comms signals via this antenna, which doubtless breaches the surface, and make it look like this is their command centre with a minimum of effort. Command fell for it, having been given no alternatives, and now that we're here, I suspect that they're going to start trying to swarm us under like rabid bleeding dogs."

"The package is ready, sir." The engineer reported automatically. Shepard still wasn't used to people addressing him as if he outranked them, which of course, he technically still didn't; he was just more frightening and ruthless than anyone else and had commandeered the squad through sheer force of personality-if you didn't include the death threats. This wasn't to say that being called 'sir' threw him off balance; it just gave him a little warm glow, a small chemical thrill of a reward for seizing power. The novelty would wear off, he knew.

"Give." He said shortly. "Check for alternative exit routes, we're not going to make it fifty metres with those four eyed nut jobs swarming around us." He took the package, and pulled the knife from the back of his belt, before turning to approach the corpse of Jenkins. He needed to hide the bomb, and since the boy wasn't using his body anymore...

"What are you _doing_?" The engineer asked in sickened, scandalised voice as Shepard efficiently and casually butchered the corpse of one of his own men with his stiletto blade, before concealing the device in his now more efficiently packed torso.

"He's dead. He doesn't need his body; I do. And if you're going to tell me I'm desecrating a corpse, bear in mind that his death didn't leave him clean and whole in the first place." Shepard said, before picking the dead man up and carrying him over to lean him against the antenna. "Do you have the detonator?"

"Of course." The engineer said, displaying it.

Gunfire cracked out, coming from the other side of the room, precluding O'Reilly's return, sweating slightly.

"We've got out exit vector." He reported. "One door, a few batarians with more gathering but less than out the front."

"Good." Shepard said, then went and retrieved the grenade launcher; they'd need some heavy firepower to cover the perimeter squad's retreat or the enemy would be right on top of them as they attempted to escape. He checked the weapon's ammunition; two shots, not much but it would have to do. He activated his communications system, in order to brief the team on the plan before it commenced, but was suddenly cut off by static. He attempted to switch frequency, and attempted to perform a diagnostic, but it wasn't working.

"Sir, my comm. unit's only getting static, even on the intra-squad frequency." The Irishman reported.

"We're being jammed." Shepard realised out loud. "They know what we're doing; they want to make sure the detonator won't work. Can you rig it to a timer?" He asked the engineer.

"I can try..." the man replied uneasily.

"Get on with it, then." Shepard snarled, realising he was becoming uneasy, then realising why; the gunfire in the corridor had stopped. "O'Reilly." He beckoned, and the two of them advanced on the doorway, to see two groups of very confused marines and batarians trying to understand why their weapons wouldn't work. Shepard knew, and groaned.

The weapons the galaxy at large used utilised Mass Effect technology to chip off a shard of metal from a solid ammo block then launch it at hypersonic speed into the enemy. Of course, all of this means that the guns are essentially computers; and computers can be prone to the same jamming as comms equipment.

"Fix bayonets, or utilise whatever close quarters weaponry you can." Shepard instructed quietly. "Fall back, try to be surreptitious, and be _very_ ready to run."

"I've rigged up a _very_ basic timer, sir." The engineer said behind them quietly.

"Set it to one minute."

"But sir, we'll have next to no chance of reaching minimum safe distance."

"And they'll have next to no chance to find the bomb and stop your primitive timer. It's not ideal, but do it."

"It's done."

"Set it off when I tell you to; not before."

Shepard and his men were still edging back softly, moving away from the bewildered fanatics, when suddenly one of them seemed to get a primitive urge to make war without its weapon. It looked up and saw the humans preparing to flee, and suddenly charged, snarling with rage; and _all_ of its comrades followed suit.

"RUN!" Shepard said, turning and sprinting into and across the comms hub with the rest of his team, towards the back of the formation. As he drew level with the engineer he yelled "Activate the timer!"

The engineer complied and then hurriedly joined the formation as they fled from the explosion that would occur in a minute's time, leaving the hub and entering another network of corridors that, while having fewer batarians than were behind them, had a sufficient enemy presence to be uncomfortable and slow progress. At first, they too were startled by their malfunctioning weapons, before they began to follow the example of Shepard's men and attempting to bludgeon the enemy at close quarters. Shepard hastily dispatched any that his squad left as they ran, resorting to quick but sloppy stabs in his adrenaline fuelled haze.

He took a quick glance over his shoulder; behind him was the engineer, and behind him, the main force of fanatics. Looking ahead again, he saw that his men were approaching a different section, partitioned by a heavy steel blast door that stood open. His mental count was coming dangerously close to zero; if they wanted any chance at survival; that door _had _to be shut behind them.

"Get past the door!" _Eleven..._

_Ten..._

_Nine..._

_Eight..._

_Seven..._

_Six-_

The formation cleared the door; most of the men kept on running, Shepard skidded to a halt to shut it, and realised that another man had yet to come through. The engineer had been left behind.

He looked back, and saw that the man had stumbled, slowed, before trying desperately to catch up again, the terror in his face showing clearly that he could keep track as well as Shepard could.

_Three..._ Shepard could see that even if the engineer managed to make it through, it was unlikely that he'd be able to shut the door in time. He'd be risking everyone's life, his in particular, for one lagger.

He shut the door and secured it.

_One..._ The engineer kept running for some obscure reason, and hit the door. He stared at Shepard through the reinforced glass viewport, stared at him accusingly. He mouthed something; Shepard deciphered it after a second's thought:

_**Two... One...**__ My count was out. Damn. _

The bomb detonated.


	6. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

Shepard could see the expanding bubble of flame and debris in his mind's eye, following the path of least resistance, moving along the grid of corridors ahead of the structural collapse. Then, he didn't need to visualize it anymore; over the engineer's shoulder he saw the approaching flame for all of a millisecond; no time to run, no difference for it to make. He saw the shockwave begin to pulp the man a nanosecond before he was incinerated.

Then the bubble hit the door. The shockwave caved it in, made it bulge outwards slamming him backwards, knocking him from his feet a second before the searing heat began to make the door glow red, at temperatures that would have melted his armour and stuck him to the door as a piece of meat sticks to a frying pan while it chars and blackens. He felt more than he heard the rumbling, the groaning of the bunker network as it spasmed and fought a seizure that would cause it to collapse. They were at least twenty metres under reinforced concrete and suffocating earth; there would have been no hope of rescue even had this not been a warzone.

The pressure behind the door built up, the force straining at the sealed steel door, cracks appearing in the glass and disappearing again as the viewport melted in tandem with its door, the rumbling reached a bone shaking crescendo and the door-

Held, just, as the rumbling subsided, and the pressure reduced, having found other outlets, and the door cooled from white hot to a tamer red. But the damage had been done. With a groan, the door broke its seals and fell away from its hinges and ponderously began to topple down towards Shepard. He hastily scrambled out of the way and got to his feet, and stood there, staring at the back of the door in morbid fascination. Outlined against the charred and blackened metal, was the shape of the dead engineer; all that was left of him.

Past the door, the entire network that had contained the comms hub had collapsed, killing all of the batarians inside-those that hadn't been incinerated, which would have been most of them. Shepard turned to see his five remaining men looking at him gravely, seeing the mark on the door, and how Shepard stood alone, and needing no explanation. He sighed.

"There wasn't time. It was him, or all of us." He said, his voice more apologetic than he felt, but now that their mission was all but over, it was time to tune down his callous attitude-

"_Lieutenant McCarthy, come in."_ The voice of Command, presumably. Shepard turned and gestured to the Service Chief, who was still technically the ranking officer.

"McCarthy's down sir, we've completed the primary objective, but we've taken fifty percent casualties."

"_Understood, chief. Good work. Move up to the surface and link up with the main force to clean up._"

"Yes sir." The Chief disconnected, as did Command. Shepard motioned to the other three squad members to go and scout for a way out, leaving him, the Irishman, and the Chief.

"_-peat, can anyone hear me? Command? McCarthy?"_ A static ridden voice called out. It sounded like Kyle's voice.

"This is the Chief. I have command of the squad. What's your status Major?"

"_We need an assist urgently! These batarians, there's something wrong with them-and it's happening here at the engineering hub. When you blew the command centre, they all went berserk-and that's compared to how they were before! We've been trying to push through to the objective, but we're getting mown down-"_ The signal cut off. Automatically, the NCO looked questioningly at Shepard, who brought up his Omni tool.

"Get word to Command. I'll see if I can work out their position."

"Command, this is the Service Chief. Major Kyle requests an-"

Shepard severed the signal. "Sorry, Chief. There's been a development. I've found the genuine command centre. They're having to broadcast what I assume is a rally or retreat signal from there now we've taken out the antenna. We need to hit them so they can't come back from this; we can't help the Major."

It would be a mistake to construe this as devotion to the greater good, this drive to get the job done and ensure that the enemy would stay dead. It was strict professionalism, in part, but Shepard understood that if the batarian Command escaped, they'd only be back, and they'd only have to be dealt with again. And now that the 95th had experienced the bastards; they'd be first on the list for whom to deploy. That was how Command thought. And next time would only be worse, and bring a greater likelihood of death.

Shepard didn't fear death, but his survival instincts were intact; he wouldn't just lie down and let it take him, he was a slave to Darwinism. They had to eradicate the threat now, deliver a coup de grace, or it could come back to haunt them and the men that died now would die anyway, and might be joined by Shepard.

"What are you talking about? We've been given an order."

"Not yet we haven't, so we can't disobey. _That's_ why I cut off Command."

"We're helping the Major, Shepard. Where's your loyalty to the squad?"

"Not interfering with my thought processes. You need me to keep these men alive, I'm the only one who can save them, and Kyle, and I'm the only one who can bring about a true end to this mission. I can do lots of things, Chief. That doesn't mean I get to choose. I have to take the long view instead."

"I'm not going with you. I won't betray my own men."

"They aren't yours. Remember what I told you?" Shepard drew his pistol, confident that it would be working again.

"What are you _doing_?" O'Reilly burst out.

"Stand down, Private. I don't want to kill either of you, but that doesn't mean I won't. Follow my orders."

"I can't. This is wrong." The Chief said. O'Reilly stood his ground.

"There _is_ no good system of morality for situations like this, Chief. It's just grey. That's all it ever is."

Who to kill? The Chief was more likely to cave if he shot the Irishman, but that was because he was a coward, and so would be less useful in a fight. O'Reilly would be a better asset, and he was less of an idiot.

"O'Reilly. You'll see. I'm saving more lives this way. Stand down. Please." The man's face twisted with the agony of indecision, as the Chief looked at him anxiously. Shepard raised his pistol, pointing it at neither of them. "I'll let them put me on trial if they want, if they disagree, but I'm right, and sacrifices have to be made."

The Irishman sighed. "I'll have to hold you to this."

"Thank you."

The Chief panicked, and drew his own pistol. "Private, what are you _doing_?" He brought up his pistol to aim it at Shepard-

And Angel Eyes shot him in the face, without so much as a blink. The Chief went down without a sound. Shepard sighed and holstered his pistol, then gestured to O'Reilly and they trudged heavily up to find the scouting party. They ran into them after a minute.

"Where's the Chief?" Shepard began to answer, but O'Reilly cut in.

"Stray batarian got him. We weren't fast enough."

Shepard nodded, apparently in agreement, but the Irishman correctly interpreted it as thanks, for making his life a little easier for now.

"We've got some new orders. Let's go take out these bastards' commanders."


	7. A Dangerous Game

Author note: sorry this took a bit longer than usual, I had writer's block briefly, and it took me about a day to get back into the correct state of mind for writing.

Also, as much as it pains me to say it, it is likely that updates are going to become more infrequent due to the onset of my exams.

* * *

A Dangerous Game

The Five ran through the charred, desolate wasteland that had been the front line. Angel Eyes had point, with O'Reilly running alongside, the other three bringing up the rear. The area was quiet; the focus of the fighting had moved as the Alliance's forces had pushed in through the shattered and broken section of the batarian line. Morale was practically non-existent, but it didn't matter. The men weren't happy, but a kind of grim resolve drove them on, drove them to finish the bastards that had killed so many of their comrades. Drove them to finish what no-one else could.

Of course, that wasn't entirely true, strictly speaking. Shepard's squad were the only ones who had ascertained the location of the privateer Command, but that was more due to the dangerous game the man was playing than anything else. He needed to justify the murder of the squad's previous technically ranking officer, or cover it up. Either way, the best course of action was to bring his squad through hell and at the same time eliminate any remaining threat that the batarians represented.

Shepard found himself in a strange situation, worse, a situation that his actions had left him in. He had to _trust_ someone. He had to trust that O'Reilly wouldn't turn on him, now that he had the means to destroy him. He had to trust that he had talked him out of having a motive. The irony was that most of the things that had happened to lead to this juncture were as a result of his chronic incapacity to have faith in anyone other than himself.

"Any Intel on what we'll find when we get there?" The Irishman asked in a voice that was beginning to run short on breath.

"They're above ground, and attempting to get an evac, from what I could tell, but they also seem to be indoors. Intel said that that district was mostly defunct industrial infrastructure."

"In English, sir?" one of the other marines panted from behind. Shepard turned, gave him a withering look, and opened his mouth-

"Abandoned factories." O'Reilly supplied.

"Just so, Private. The point is, if we're careful, we should be able to get ahead of them and set up a decent ambush before they can get off of this abysmal rock and do even more damage."

The Five left the desolate trench network and moved into batarian territory, entering the industrial district a short while later. They moved up the street, hugging the buildings on the right side, when Shepard suddenly gestured a halt, before signalling to_ slowly_ get into cover and out of sight-one of the things most likely to get someone detected is sudden movement. Up ahead at the end of the street was a small squad of batarians, a mixed group of six including a melee specialist and what appeared to be a sniper.

Shepard confirmed through his scope, and considered their course of action. The marines would doubtless find prudence unpalatable at this point in time, and it would hardly match up with the supposed agenda of eliminating the privateer threat entirely. No, they had to be killed, but in such a way that the Five didn't broadcast their approach; thus far, no Alliance personnel had been detected in the area, which would make an ambush easier and less risky.

"Alright." He said softly to his men. "We need to kill these _quietly_; no firearms, but at the same time it needs to be fast, and brutal; we can't give them the opportunity to communicate." His eyes brightened. "O'Reilly, with me. We'll advance quietly, staying in cover, until we can get close enough to kill them up close. I'll jam their comms when we're close enough, and we'll finish them."

The two men crept up the street, O'Reilly mimicking the Corporal, clinging to the shadows and staying out of their line of sight until they were watching the enemy squad from the doorway of a derelict building about ten metres away from their position. There, Shepard directed his Omni tool to emit a signal that jammed their communications equipment, before edging out of cover to get as close to them as he could-

A growl indicated that he'd been detected, and he sent a signal from his Omni tool that overloaded their weapons briefly, giving him and his companion the seconds they needed to close with the enemy. Shepard flung his knife at the melee specialist, and grinned with satisfaction as it pierced his neck, bringing him down with a groan and a gurgle. Then, he was meeting the charge of a mere grunt of a soldier who lunged at him with a shotgun capped with a bayonet, guiding the weapon aside, and spinning past it to deal a stunning blow to the batarian's ear, before seizing his head in both hands and giving it a sharp wrench to one side and then the other, breaking the alien's spine.

He snatched up the creature's weapon and, having no time to bring the blade to bear, smashed it like a club into a second charging batarian's shoulder, bringing him down to the floor, before impaling his chest on the spike attached to the muzzle. He spun to see how his Irish companion was faring-

To find himself staring down the muzzle of a high calibre sniper rifle, at point blank range. Shepard could almost feel himself freezing, but his body acted without his mind giving it conscious instructions. He lashed out at the gun, but failing to push it away even as-

The batarian sniper pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked. Shepard hadn't risked shoving the gun aside when the risk at that point was that the gun would go off anyway and tear a hefty chunk of flesh out of , he had lashed out and flicked a miniscule mechanism on the gun's barrel that only a sniper could have identified with such precision. He'd ejected the weapon's metal ammunition block. The weapon had nothing _to_ fire.

The enemy sniper glared at Shepard in pure hatred, then in a second had dropped the gun and was clutching at its back, before it collapsed, dead. Behind the new corpse stood O'Reilly, breathing more heavily than Shepard but alive and apparently unharmed.

Shepard wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he hadn't _consciously_ been trying to get the Irishman killed, but on the other hand, if he died, it would solve some incipient problems after the mission was over. Shepard wouldn't have to bother trying to avoid a court martial that he had never had any intention of attending anyway. However, as the Irishman kept proving, he was a useful one to have around in the short term, increasing the odds that they would even _complete_ the mission.

The other three moved up and rejoined the squad, and they continued to move through the district on an intercept vector with the batarian command. Shepard knew that his men would want to kill any aliens that they came across, regardless of the risks associated with such a move, so he did his best to guide them away from any opposition that his men didn't notice.

Finally, they managed to enter the group of interconnected buildings where they intended to ambush the enemy Command. They managed to reach the building three minutes before the aliens would enter, Shepard estimated; plenty of time to select positions. At that moment, however, he and his men found themselves under fire. The Five became Four before they could all reach cover.

Apparently the batarian escort's vanguard stretched quite some way in front of those they were escorting.


	8. Coup de Grace

Coup de Grace

The Four were pinned down, scattered around a derelict factory, and they were only being assaulted by the vanguard of the force that they had intended to ambush. Shepard peeked out from cover and tried to ascertain the situation, but a flurry of rounds knocked down his shields and forced him back into cover before he could locate the muzzle flashes that would indicate the enemy's positions. From the amount of gunfire, he estimated at least seven enemy personnel, all armed with automatic weaponry that they seemed more than capable of using effectively.

He looked around to find the remaining members of his squad. He knew that one of them was dead, but he hadn't had time to look at the face. Was it O'Reilly? That would make things much more difficult now, but far easier later. Assuming there was a later.

It wasn't O'Reilly. The Irishman was pinned into cover roughly opposite Shepard, watching him, waiting to know what their next move was. The other two were watching him in a similar fashion, but further away from the enemy.

"Suppressing fire." Shepard ordered laconically. If he could get the enemy ducking, he might be able to see what was happening, then formulate a strategy. The men complied, and the fact that they weren't all picked off the moment they ducked out of cover was a promising sign. Shepard waited a second to confirm his safety, then mirrored the action, looking out and locating the eight batarians, then examining them more thoroughly through his sniper scope. All appeared to be standard grunts, armed with assault rifles.

Despite the fact that they were in good cover, Shepard managed to pick one of them off with a double shot from the sniper rifle, the first bringing down the alien's shields so that the second could penetrate the creature's armour. Unfortunately it was at that moment that his fellow marines' weapons finally chose to overheat due to constant firing, and once again Shepard wished for some thermal clip technology.

However, what happened next was both very good and very bad, from the perspective of the marines. The batarians had no heavy weapons, and therefore no apparent way to break the deadlock. However, they had also realised that a continuing stalemate would result in all of them gradually being picked off one by one by the sniper rifle. The weapon overheat that the psychopath's squad mates had just suffered, however, presented them with a way to end the stagnation that could potentially end in their favour, due to their superior numbers. They charged.

Shepard dropped his sniper and drew his Karpov pistol, and squeezed off a dozen rapid shots at the running foes, bringing down shields and dropping one of them with a brace of rounds to the torso, before he was forced back into cover by a wild retaliation of rounds impacting against his shields and the ground around him. Then, they were upon him, and he fired a round into a face at point blank range, before swiping a rifle aside and slashing a throat with his knife. The others swept on past him to assault his less capable men, and he picked off another with his pistol before he couldn't fire due to the risk of hitting one of his own men by accident.

O'Reilly met the charge readily, smashing a batarian in the face with his overheated weapon, burning him and knocking him to the floor, when the Irishman stamped on the alien's throat, before tossing his main weapon aside in favour of his own pistol, and spraying wildly at the next batarian, staggering him before a lucky shot punctured the shields and went through the armour.

The other two were left with three batarians that closed with them, determined at least to use their deaths to weaken the force before it encountered their commanders. They moved to meet the charge before the wild fire of the charging enemy could bring down their shields, one of them mirroring O'Reilly's move with the assault rifle before it finally cooled sufficiently to fire, and finishing him with a burst to the head, before gunning down a second batarian.

The final man was slow to attack the batarian facing him, and managed to block a blow before he was shot in the gut past his kinetic barriers. He was knocked down, but opened fire with his rifle and managed to riddle the batarian with bullets. Shepard treated him with medigel in order to keep him alive until the end of the mission, and then dragged him to his feet.

"We need to get out of here." He announced. His squad looked at him disbelievingly. "We need to attack them from the flanks, we can't stay here or we'll just get slaughtered..." His brow furrowed in contemplation. "Wait. You two, stay here, stay in cover, and make them think you're the main force. Let them pin you down. O'Reilly, with me. We'll assault them from the flank and take out the enemy commanders before punching through and falling back."

The men complied with his orders, the two men moving to find better concealment, whilst the Irishman and Angel Eyes hurriedly left the building and advanced parallel to the enemy column's route.

They didn't have long before they heard the gunfire that indicated contact. Shepard checked his Omni tool; the signal that indicated the location of the Command personnel had indeed finally encountered his ambush.

"O'Reilly. I'm going to provide sniper support and give you an opening to exploit. Once you're in, I'll move to close quarters and give you support there. Our priority is to eliminate the Command personnel and end the broadcast, then disengage. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." Shepard moved to a window from where he had a good view of the enemy's flank, and selected a point that would give ready access to the leaders. "_In position, sir_." The Irishman reported.

"On my mark, move out and engage." Shepard brought a batarian into his sights. "Three," he adjusted to aim for the head "two," his finger tightened on the trigger "one," he pulled the trigger twice, the batarian fell, he adjusted his aim and fired again, bringing another alien down "mark."

O'Reilly sprinted out of cover, firing tight, accurate bursts from his assault rifle that further exploited the flaw in the enemy ranks that Shepard had created. Angel Eyes allowed his weapon to cool for a couple of seconds, then opened fire again, bringing down the batarians that had been fastest to react to the ambush and most accurate in their response. The Irishman reached the loose enemy formation and began leaping over corpses, moving along the corridor that was clear of living enemy personnel. He managed to move fast enough to punch through the defensive line without taking any shots, and moved into the building that held the targets.

Now that Shepard's charge was out of his line of sight, the Corporal slung his rifle in favour of his pistol and blade, and advanced out of cover to follow O'Reilly's line of advance. As the enemy's attention was largely on the man that had just punched through their formation, he managed to again take them largely by surprise and successfully take an alternative entrance into the building, albeit one that left him somewhat further away from the target than the Irishman.

The batarian high command had an extensive bodyguard unit, who had O'Reilly pinned down in cover with heavy automatic fire, whilst a trio of shotgun wielding melee specialists advanced on his position, the leader wearing a human made leather trench coat over his armour, presumably some sort of trophy. Shepard moved up, staying out of the enemy line of fire as best he could, until he neared the Irishman's position.

"Need your gun!" he called, and, obligingly, the Irishman slid his assault rifle over, before drawing his pistol and readying himself.

Shepard ducked out of cover and opened fire on the three melee specialists, causing them to scatter and accelerate their advance so that Shepard had to pick a target, and, even with the Irishman providing supporting fire, they wouldn't be able to bring all of them down. Shepard advanced towards the Irishman's position, firing in steady bursts to avoid causing his weapon to overheat, and ducking and dodging in order to evade the majority of batarian fire.

The batarian wearing the trench coat reached the two humans first, brought down O'Reilly's shields with a double blast from his shotgun before dealing him a vicious kick to the chest that knocked him from his feet. The Irishman scrambled up again almost immediately, but was forced to give ground before the assault of the other two melee specialists, leaving Shepard alone with the leader, who spun to point his shotgun at the human's head-

And squeezing off a round just as Shepard dived aside, glancing him and lowering his shields, but failing to do any more than bruise him. The human rolled to his feet and out of the line of fire just ahead of the batarian's next shotgun blast, and responded by firing at the alien on fully automatic, lowering the creature's shields and staggering him, giving Shepard a moment to close and aim a high spinning kick to his foe's head, a kick that should stun him and all but end the fight-

A kick that the batarian _caught_, clearly intending to hold Shepard in place with one hand whilst he blasted the human into oblivion with his shotgun in the other. Shepard responded by lifting his other foot, and allowing himself to drop to the ground, discarding the assault rifle in order to free his hands to break his fall, before using his free leg to sweep at the batarian's foot, bringing him down to the floor as well and causing his shot to go awry.

The batarian let go of Shepard's leg in order to bring his shotgun to bear on the human's torso, only to have it wrenched from his grasp by a powerful kick from Shepard, who then rolled to his feet to face the batarian, who had mirrored his action. Now, neither of them were armed, and, despite themselves, the other batarians had ceased fire to observe the rare spectacle of what would appear to be a prolonged close quarters fight.

"Private-don't stop shooting..." Shepard commanded, and the Irishman raised his weapon in response, only to have _all_ of the batarians in the room raise their weapons...

To point them at _Shepard_.


	9. Ave Imperator, Morituri Te Salutant

Author note:

It has been drawn to my attention that I haven't yet made it clear that the fact that thermal clip technology is present in this universe, just not widely adopted for various reasons, is a component of the fact that this is an alternate universe. Don't question why, it seemed to make sense at the time... And yes, many of the characters that I favour are British. My apologies, this essentially reflects off of me, as _I_ am British, English, to be precise, which I suppose explains why I killed the Scotsman, and made the admirably efficient psychopath English as well, and why he is contemplating killing the Irishman. Come to think of it, this is almost turning into one of those jokes (I am not racist. I hold all people in equal contempt, unless you review and acknowledge my divine brilliance-and if you haven't realised I'm not entirely serious/not in my right mind by _now_, you are more deserving of my contempt than most)... Anyway. On with the story.

* * *

Ave Imperator, Morituri Te Salutant

"Ah, O'Reilly? Stand down, please... No seriously, being all stoic and unwilling to negotiate a little is not going to achieve anything just now... thanks."

_I hate stoics..._ Shepard turned to regard the targets of this perhaps somewhat misguided operation, a small group of batarians, surrounded by their bodyguards. "I take it you want something before we can get back to the war?"

"Yes, human. Entertainment..."

"Ooh, gladiatorial combat, you're just so sophisticated... Fine. I'd try to do a deal that said if I win we get to kill you, but neither of us would hold up our end..."

Shepard tried to avoid thinking about the absurdity of the situation he was in; namely, in the middle of a war, and yet about to participate in gladiatorial combat of all things, and attempted to concentrate on his opponent, who appeared to be sizing him up. They began to circle, Shepard remaining calm and relaxed, passive, whilst the batarian attempted to psych him out, feinting at him, and grinning sadistically. Shepard remained unfazed, then got bored, and fixed the batarian with a blank stare, over which he gradually stretched his best predatory, psychotic grin. The batarian paused, hesitated. Shepard moved.

He lashed out with an open hand, aiming for the batarian's head, and anticipating his dodge, following up almost simultaneously with a vicious kick to the throat that the batarian ducked into, which downed him, leaving him clutching at his throat and choking hoarsely. Shepard turned away-

And almost immediately the batarian was behind him, dealing a savage stomp behind his leg to force him onto that knee, before seizing him by his black, slicked back hair, and yanking his head back in order to deal a vicious open handed strike to the throat. However, Shepard went with the pull, raising a hand to ward off the strike even as he bent backwards to the ground, further than the batarian had intended, allowing him to use his other hand to draw his knife and bury it in the gap between armour segments in the alien's knee.

Without withdrawing the blade, he yanked on it, and subconsciously the batarian moved with the pull, attempting to minimize damage to his joint, but losing his balance instead, which meant that when Shepard seized the wrist that was holding his hair, he was able to knock it aside with ease, twist around, and deal a _staggering_ blow to the melee specialist's midriff, which sent him stumbling backwards even as he attempted to regain his balance.

Shepard shifted his position so that he was crouching in a position not unlike a runner before a race, and watched his opponent, never even blinking. The privateer growled, and lunged at him, aiming a vicious blow to the marine sniper's skull, but Thaddaeus simply pushed himself up off of his hands, and caught the blow with a flick of his wrists, pulling on it further to exacerbate the foe's forward momentum, as well as pulling himself into a stable position on his feet, before continuing the motion with his wrists, causing them to collide at a high velocity with the alien's chin, snapping his head back, before the human stepped lithely aside, avoiding the batarian's clumsy continued forward motion.

The batarian was becoming increasingly furious, filling his system with adrenaline, allowing him to take the beating and come back for more. He stepped forwards, his movements finally under control, and sent a furious volley of blows at various points on Shepard's body with both hands and feet. Giving ground before the unrelenting assault, Shepard began to be forced to prioritise which blows he allowed to connect, and took some painful bruises to non-vital areas. He managed to parry a blow to his face, and followed up with a counter strike aimed for the alien's ear, intended to stun him, but the batarian caught the blow and began to push Shepard's arm back, until suddenly, Shepard followed the motion instead of resisting it, yanking the batarian forwards and off balance, before delivering a blow from his left fist into the batarian's straightened elbow joint-

Even as the enemy dealt a _painful_ blow to the human's lower ribcage, cracking bones and breaking one inwards, as well as dealing a severe shock to his diaphragm, winding him badly. Realising his peril, Shepard didn't pause, but smashed a stunning backhanded blow into his opponent's ear, before following up with a vindictive jab towards the eyes, that the alien shied away from, allowing Shepard to break away, nursing his torso.

The batarian, sensing victory, paced back and forth in front of his foe, judging the moment for the coup de grace, the glint in his eyes reminiscent of a wolf that has mortally injured its prey and is waiting for it to become weak enough to be eaten. Shepard just followed him with eyes void of emotion, as empty and dead as a shark.

His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, a subtle invitation to the final blow, an invitation that his enemy accepted. He stepped forth, then suddenly pivoted on one foot, brought the other up and sent it crashing towards the human in such strength that it would surely poleaxe him-

If it indeed connected; however, Shepard ducked under the blow, the batarian's trench coat brushing across his face as he moved in the opposite direction to the kick. The alien followed through with a lightening jab to the face that Shepard simply guided aside, before jabbing a blow of his own that failed to connect like its precursor, before he was forced to leap away from another kick directed at his solar plexus and then flicked up at his chest, the batarian pressing his advantage by advancing and initiating a frenzied flurry of feints and actual blows, so many that all Shepard could do was let his subconscious take over and simply _react_.

The subconscious is not necessarily the best strategist.

A jarring blow to the arm that was dismissed as superfluous slowed him down, allowing a second blow to the face, an open handed _scratch_ that opened up bloody trenches in Shepard's face, missing his left eye by a bare few millimetres, but immediately impairing his vision as, despite the merely cosmetic nature of the cut, as a head wound it bled profusely.

As such, Shepard didn't see the quick slap to his left ear until it was already too late, disorientating him and leaving him open for a final _vicious_ uppercut that laid him out on his back.

As Shepard attempted to shake off his daze, he felt a constricting pressure on his throat. He attempted to shake the blood from his left eye and glared up at the sneering alien that was looming over him, one foot resting on his throat.

"You lose, human." He said in that signature deep voice that is associated with the human stereotype of the batarian race, a stereotype that also involves the four-eyed race being universally criminal in nature. Ironic. The alien closed his eyes, savouring the moment as he prepared to wrench his foot around in a movement that would break the human's neck-

And felt a great many things happen to him, all within a second of one another.

A blow was struck to the back of the knee of the leg that exerted pressure on the human's throat, causing it to bend and remove the pressure; almost simultaneously, it was removed from the vicinity of the human's neck. At the same time, the alien felt his other leg swept out from under him; he fell. The back of his head had barely impacted against the ground, however, before _he_ felt the pressure of a boot on his body; on his wrist, pinning it above his head.

He lashed out at the foot to try and free himself, and felt another boot land on him, this one pinning his other wrist to himself, and his neck to the ground. He glared balefully up at the human standing over him, almost nonchalantly, gazing upon him with eyes that no longer held even _vague_ interest.

"Check and mate." The human announced in measured, controlled terms.

"Ha! How're you going to finish me, you-"

The batarian was never given the opportunity to finish. Shepard simply drew his pistol and shot him _exactly_ between his four eyes.

He looked up at the generals, who were staring at him in a daze, unable to even voice their objections.

"Come on, you never said a _thing_ about fighting fair." He raised his pistol.

"O'Reilly-"

* * *

Another author note: please permit me my little bit of fun; I know that a little gladiatorial combat is somewhat unlikely, _especially_ against the backdrop of a futuristic conflict as bloody and bitter as the one between the Alliance and the batarian Hegemony (then again, if there were prisoners, it's a definite possibility, just not in the midst of an actual battle), but it was fun to write, and hopefully fun to read for you lot, too.


	10. Invalidation

Author note: apologies for the late update. I have decided that writer's block is the fourth most painful condition known to man, after man 'flu, stubbing one's toe, and paper cuts.

Invalidation

The two humans contracted their fingers around their respective triggers repeatedly, and sent round after round into the batarian commanders, who had moved to the forefront of their bodyguard in order to get a good view of the fight between the human and the batarian.

They weren't intact for long.

The second their fresh corpses touched the ground, their entire retinue almost seemed to spasm, not exactly in pain, but as if they had suddenly been lobotomised. Half of them all but collapsed, and attempted to flee, gibbering insanely. The other half suddenly seemed filled with a frenzied hatred.

Hatred that seemed to be directed solely at the human race.

Shepard continued firing through the storm, backing into cover, still nursing his wounded abdomen with one hand, and stepped on O'Reilly's assault rifle. Without hesitation, he kicked out at it and sent it skittering over to halt at the Irishman's feet, who picked it up and managed to get into cover sufficiently ahead of the other two melee specialists to pick them off by using both of his weapons in conjunction with each other, reducing his accuracy, but significantly increasing his fire rate.

He then combined his fire with Shepard's, and managed to mow down the aliens that continued to resist, most of them being so incapacitated by rage that their survival instincts seemed to have been destroyed entirely.

The two marines, however, were unwilling to suffer the other, apparently helpless half of the batarian forces, either, and systematically executed all of them, the entire process taking about five minutes, and a liberal use of captured enemy ordnance.

"O'Reilly, check on the others." Shepard ordered once they had finished the 'clean up', which was something of a misnomer considering the number of corpses littering the place. The Irishman complied, and, whilst he did so, Shepard found his attention drawn to the batarian melee specialist that he had killed.

Or, more specifically, to his coat.

_Don't be absurd; it'll just get in the way of optimal function. _He reprimanded himself, but still looking at it critically. It really was in remarkably good condition, giving its doubtless less than kosher history.

_I could probably manage_, _and it would serve quite well to mask kicks and the like,_ he mused, considering how the batarian had been able to function sufficiently well to outmanoeuvre him during combat, only to botch the job at the end, allowing the human to regain the advantage.

_Even if you could manage in a conventional close quarters brawl, having that thing flapping around behind you isn't going to be exactly stealthy on a modern battlefield. Or dignified. Okay, it would look good, but..._

_Fine. I'll wear it on special occasions._

Shepard moved over to the corpse, and removed the coat, not without difficulty, as he was trying to ensure that the coat remained pristine, and the first stages of rigor mortis had already set in. He managed, however, and subsequently removed his sniper rifle from its position on his back, before pulling the black leather coat on over his matt black armour. It was quite a tight fit, but not so much so as to be constricting, and that could be amended by utilising a lighter set of armour, and the extra weight was insignificant compared to the load that he had grown used to carrying in any case.

He was also pleased to note that the electromagnet that was intended to attach his rifle to his back functioned with little to no impairment through the coat, and began to perform the kata that he had created for his own unnamed martial art, performing a dizzying flurry of kicks and following up with a complex combination of blows, blocks and parries, combined with the inevitable constant movement and dodging of a modern battlefield, and managed to strain the injury to his torso before exhausting himself or finding a movement that he could no longer perform to an acceptable standard.

He stood, panting heavily, and vainly wished for a mirror, before laughing at his foolishness.

"Glad to see one of us is still capable of acting like a child." A scathing Irish voice noted from behind him.

Shepard sighed, and turned to face O'Reilly. He stood, arms folded across his chest, grim faced, and... alone.

"I take it that the others didn't survive?" Shepard asked heavily, more for the Irishman's benefit that anything else.

"They were swarmed under when the batarians went insane. You don't want to see the state of their corpses."

"I'll take your word for it..."

"What now?"

"Now? Now, we should go and see if we can pull Kyle and his men out of the fire."

"No rest for the wicked..."

Shepard was beginning to feel that O'Reilly was becoming more of a threat. This would have to be dealt with.

They moved quickly through the desolation, heading for the location that Intel had stated was the location of the engineering hub, encountering even fewer batarians than they had when moving to intercept the enemy commanders. Those that they did encounter did not receive the benefit of mercy, regardless of whether their behaviour was that of predator of prey.

As they went, Shepard attempted to contact Kyle's group, enquiring as to their status, and receiving no response but a blanket of static.

They knew they were nearing their destination when they began to find the human corpses. They were _not_ in good condition. O'Reilly grew more and more grim and determined, whilst Shepard just took it in his stride. He'd seen worse in his gang days..._ done_ worse.

"How can you just ignore this?" The Irishman asked him in a sickened voice.

"People die. It happens all of the time, and half the time it's just their body breaking down of its own accord. It's inevitable, it's unpleasant, it's lonely, and the aesthetic is _never_ pleasing. There is no point to worrying about what I can't change. I'll kill who I have to, but this isn't personal for me, and it shouldn't be for you. Though of course, you take what enjoyment you can get from it..."

They entered the bunker network, moving along a wide route doubtless used by such armour as the batarians had, before the enemy forces seemed to have gone aimlessly insane as opposed to being insanely devoted to achieving their directive. The network that Kyle's men had been directed to attack seemed to have been decommissioned, perhaps for some time before the attack. The lights were offline, and there was a dank, musty texture to the air. Small things scurried in the dark. And yet, on the off chance that they were not alone, Shepard vetoed O'Reilly's suggestion that they use their flashlights.

Shepard regretted not having night vision goggles. They crept through the almost complete darkness, and were unsure after a while that they were even headed in the right direction.

Then they began to hear the screams.

Shepard deployed his sniper rifle, and adjusted his scope to night vision as a makeshift monocular. The things that had been scurrying in the dark were... visually unpleasant. Shepard halted suddenly, and froze, hoping that the scope wasn't emitting too much light. He had seen a batarian. He didn't appear to be afflicted by the aimless madness like the rest of them, which potentially made him the first entirely sane batarian to be found on the moon, with the exception of the commanders.

Shepard held out a hand behind him, kept it there until it contacted O'Reilly's chest, and halted his progress. Shepard silently handed him the rifle, and gestured towards the enemy sentry, before creeping forwards to slash his throat. The two continued to advance, but before long, the sniper scope was no longer necessary; the tunnel network gradually became brighter and brighter, until they turned a corner and saw dim artificial light up ahead. The two marines advanced, both of them wielding their sidearms and their blades, being more ideally suited to confined tunnel combat.

The transformation once they joined the corridor with the lighting was... startling, altering immediately from dank, barren concrete corridors to sterile white tiles, the sort of surface one would expect in a laboratory, which was exactly what they had found. It wasn't long before they encountered the first holding cells, with transparent walls facing onto the corridor, all ominously empty.

Shepard noted surveillance devices, and disabled them with his Omni tool, but was well aware that it was likely that their presence had already been noted by the time that he began to notice signs that they were under observation.

The next development after the holding cells was the addition of signs of combat; scorch marks, bloodstains, and bullet marks in the walls.

What was far more disturbing, however, was when the holding cells ceased to be empty.

They had found the vast majority of the population of the area.

The batarians didn't seem to have been overly selective in their choice of test subjects, all species were present, mostly civilians, with a few that appeared to have once been mercenaries and pirates.

They all seemed to have been affected by the same affliction as the batarian soldiers, gibbering, some of them bearing injuries that appeared to be self-inflicted.

However, by _far_ the most disturbing sights were the batarians that were present in the cells. They were the most mutilated, often bearing hideous growths and defects that ordinarily Shepard would have assumed had been present from birth. Shepard knew better, here. These were the first test subjects, the rejects, the ones that hadn't been fit for active duty.

All of them responded to the presence of the human marines in one of two ways; the first half shied away, pitifully cowering in the corners of their cells, sometimes gnawing anxiously on their own flesh, whimpering and occasionally snarling at the intruders.

That was the better of the two reactions.

The other half went entirely berserk, throwing themselves at the transparent walls of their cells, completely ignoring the existence of the solid that blocked their path, attempting to lash out at the men, often striking with such force that they damaged their own corrupted flesh, leaving grotesque streaks of blood, pus and general gore on the walls, interspersed with, most sickeningly, gobbets of their own flesh.

This reaction was, unfortunately, the more common of the two.

Shepard was thankful for the walls of their cells, disgusting as the sight of the results of their mindless aggression were.

He was grateful for their existence. Right up until the moment that it became apparent that they weren't fixed. In unison, the doors retracted, and within the space of a second, the two marines were fighting for their lives.


	11. Revelations

Author note: This one is quite a bit longer, and, as the title may imply, some important things happen. However, this chapter involves something that many people will not find pleasant. Torture. I wrote in gory detail, such that I personally think that a mere 'M' rating is insufficient, and if you aren't a sick fuck like me I recommend that you think carefully before deciding to read it. I have inserted a break either side of the offending section, so that you can go straight past it if you find that sort of thing too much.

You have been warned.

As ever, I appreciate feedback.

* * *

Revelations

The saving grace of the situation was that the enemy was unarmed; although in their numbers, it was difficult enough to deal with the dozen that were trying to claw at the two humans at any one time.

"What if they're contagious?" O'Reilly yelled as he managed to find room to mow down six foes with his assault rifle.

"Try not to get any blood on you." Shepard suggested, as he blew a chunk out of a test subject's skull, before severing the spinal cord of another with a well placed knife thrust. "Other than that, we can't really do much, so there's no point worrying. However," he said as he restrained an attacking foe, "If you look, there are indications that this is the result of surgery, and therefore probably not contagious. Nevertheless, don't get any blood on you if you can help it."

Easier said than done. Shepard was already in mourning for his trenchcoat, aware that in all probability it would not escape unscathed.

The two marines hacked their way through the inmates, making it to the end of the corridor, rounding the corner, and finding themselves faced with...

A locked door.

"I'll hack it. Keep them off me." Shepard decided, activating his Omni tool and breaking into the wireless network that he had expected to be present, this being a lab, after all.

Meanwhile, the Irishman had gone back around the corner, in order to give himself time to deal with the test subjects; if he shot at them only once they'd turned the corner, he'd quickly be swarmed under. Particularly since it seemed that the enemy were slightly harder to kill than they'd expected; half of the enemies they'd dealt with during their progression down the detention corridor were attempting to get back up again, and approaching him whether they could manage it or not. Clearly, only outright kill shots would do.

O'Reilly began spraying his assault rifle on fully automatic fire, in order to stall them and buy himself time to bring them down more permanently, bringing up his single shot pistol for the finishing rounds. Even as it was, the twisted, warped creatures continued to approach in unnerving numbers, and the Irishman prioritised the enemies that were sufficiently intact to be a serious threat; the ones that could run were the ones that he focussed on.

This meant that as the upright ones managed to get almost within striking distance of him, he failed to notice the wretched batarian test subject dragging itself towards him, it's legs non-functional, but otherwise still perfectly capable of doing damage...

O'Reilly almost collapsed from sheer _shock_ when he felt a sharp stabbing, ripping pain in his left leg, glanced down, and saw that one of those _things _had _bitten_ him, was tearing at his leg. The marine retched, thankful that his last meal had been quite some time ago, so that his stomach was empty, yanked his leg out of the disgusting creature's grasp, and opened fire on it with both of his guns, practically shredding it, but failing to stop when it was dead.

He screamed hysterically as he fired, oblivious of the presence of the other test subjects as they swarmed him, until they blocked his line of sight from the target of his retribution.

At that point, he realised his peril-

And felt a foreign hand yank him back off of his feet, simultaneously confiscating his rifle, buying himself some breathing space with a _brutal_ kick to the creature immediately in front of him, his combat boot actually _caving the creature's chest in_, and sending it back at the feet of its fellow monstrosities, giving him time to bring the gun he held to bear and unleashing merciless bursts into the skull of every creature that he could see, until only those that could do little more than crawl remained.

Hastily, Shepard treated the foul mess that the creature had made of the vulnerable section of O'Reilly's calf with medigel, before dragging the man to his feet and shoving him around the corner ahead of him, so that the Corporal could turn to bring the rifle to bear again and act as a rearguard. They retreated through the door that Shepard had hacked, then the infiltrator instructed it to close against their pursuers, ensuring their safety for the time being.

They advanced to find themselves faced with the main lab area, complete with microscopes, data terminals... and large numbers of clearly upset batarian scientists, all of them apparently armed, and reinforced with somewhat better equipped security forces. The Two took cover behind work benches, and returned fire.

Some of the scientists appeared to be preparing to evacuate, Shepard noted. Under the cover of fire from the security personnel, they were taking samples of their work, and appeared to be wiping the drives of the data terminals... and deploying explosives...

"O'Reilly; our time frame for a possible victory just shrank. They're deploying erasers." An 'eraser' does exactly what it sounds like; it erases. In a military context, this tends to involve large amounts of strategically placed high explosive. O'Reilly swore, and rose up out of cover to unleash a barrage of fire at the scientists, forcing them into cover, but really doing little more than slowing them down.

However, this provided Shepard with an opportunity. The Irishman's actions resulted in him becoming the target of choice for the batarians trying to provide cover for the cleanup squad. As a result, Shepard had a clear route out of cover to gain access to the scientists, which he promptly took, vaulting the workbench and immediately opening fire to keep those that would delay him out of the way. He got in amongst the scientists, shot one at point blank range, and dealt another a crippling blow to the neck, before seizing the one that had been collecting the samples and the copies of the data on the terminals, spinning him around, and using his valuable torso as a human shield. To help get his point across, he put a gun to the alien's head.

"Stand down." He instructed. After a moment, the batarians complied.

"Drop your weapons; slide them over to my comrade." They hesitated, he shot one of them before returning the gun to his shield's head; they obeyed.

"Thanks. Now, I'm afraid I only really need one captive to question, so, O'Reilly, if you wouldn't mind..."

The Irishman opened fire; batarians howled with rage, dived for cover, ran for their weapons. In any case, within seconds, the only remaining living batarian was Shepard's hostage.

"Well, now that we're alone... let's have those collectables that you seemed to think were so valuable." Shepard suggested. The batarian snorted.

"Why should I? I'm loyal to the Hegemony, human."

"And if you comply, you can continue to be loyal to the Hegemony, whereas if you do not, I shall simply have to remove said items of interest from your corpse. It doesn't actually make that much of a difference to me, but I would have thought that to you it might make some difference..."

The batarian put the samples and the data storage unit in a holdall that O'Reilly slung over a shoulder.

"Thank you kindly, good sir. Now, perhaps you would be obliging enough to enlighten us as to what you and yours were doing here."

"Yes, and tell us where our comrades are." The Irishman butted in, glaring at both of them. Shepard's fingers started to itch for his Karpov.

"You'll have to kill me before I _tell _you anything-and my knowledge is one thing you _can't_ extract from my corpse." The batarian answered defiantly.

"Would you care to place a wager on that?" Shepard enquired ominously, an anticipatory gleam in his eyes. He didn't enjoy torture as _such_; he wasn't a sadist, but it made for a puzzle like no other... and the batarian's stoicism was aggravating.

He drew his stiletto, twirled it expertly, flipping it round and round with small movements of his fingers, as others might fidget with a pen. The movement of the matt black carbon was hypnotic.

* * *

Shepard considered his solution to the puzzle of how to get his captive to provide the necessary information as quickly as possible without pushing him too far. He recalled that, like humans, batarians have two kidneys, and that around them are a large number of nerve endings. He also recalled that batarians are significantly less prone to shock than humans.

Without any further ado, he placed his blade exactly over the spot of flesh that he intended to puncture, and, _ever so gradually_, eased the sharp blade in, slowly notching up the agony for the alien by twisting the blade. The scientist groaned, teeth gritted, as his blood flowed out around the puncture, but managed to grit out

"You'll have to do better than that..."

Shepard _ripped _the blade from the wound, opening it further, and allowing the blood to gush forth in a torrent; he had ruptured a key artery. He drew his pistol, and, worried; the Irishman stepped forward, before the psychopath pulled the trigger rapidly into one of the corpses, until his weapon overheated. He placed it over the batarian's wound, and vented the weapon by partially disassembling it, and cauterised the alien's wound, being careful to inflict as much superficial damage as he could through the action. The scientist screamed once, then, his voice carrying an oddly shrill note for a batarian, he grunted out "No-no-won't tell you-"

Shepard was impressed by his foe's resistance, making the puzzle more interesting, if more inconvenient. Subtlety was all well and good, but when time was an issue, perhaps he needed to be a little more... obvious. Privately, he wished for a little music, but doubted that O'Reilly would approve of the tribute to the 'old masters' of the art.

"Four eyes... they're the trademark of your race, really, aren't they? Do you really need all of them?" Shepard enquired in a conversational tone, as he almost absently cleaned his knife. "What quirk of evolution led to them becoming dominant in your species? What advantage do they confer over those of us with only one pair of eyes? And, perhaps most importantly at present, just how _sensitive_ are they, hmm?" He poised his knife over the first eye, the smaller upper left eye, deciding on gradually building up to the main pair.

The batarian squirmed, flinching, trying to turn his head away, to shut his eyes, struggling compulsively to get away from the slowly approaching blade.

"O'Reilly, would you mind holding his head still?" Shepard asked, in a somewhat cavalier tone of voice.

Uneasily, the marine complied. He was a closet xenophobe, especially when it came to batarians, Shepard decided, but it didn't seem to switch his sense of morality off entirely. Inconvenient; this would serve to turn him against his superior still further, despite the obvious necessity of his actions.

The batarian was practically delirious with fear as the blade resumed its belaboured approach towards his eye, gradually growing larger and larger in his vision, consuming his world until that was all that seemed to remain; the hand and the terrifying blade it wielded. The knife slid in, the batarian started to scream and hyperventilate simultaneously as the blade displaced the soft optical matter that was practically a viscous liquid, and it oozed out around the blade to run down the captive's face and collect in the socket of his lower left eye. Shepard stopped when he reached the back of the socket, resisted the strange temptation to 'tickle' the retinal nerves with the point of his blade, and, as gradually as he had inserted it, removed the blade.

When he did, the batarian gasped and sobbed, shaking violently as the blood and gore slowly traced a viscous path down his face.

"This would be an appropriate moment to stop this." Shepard stated quietly, put in a peculiar, pensive mood by the process. "You've performed admirably lasting this long, most wouldn't. Allow me to ease the pain." The batarian didn't respond. Shepard sighed, raised the knife, and began to repeat the process on the other eye of the upper pair. The blade approached again, was a mere millimetre for the eye, actually _touched_ it-

* * *

The batarian screamed out one word, his voice filled with pain, despair and anguish. "_STOP!"_

Shepard immediately complied, and gave the alien a mild anaesthetic to keep him coherent. He wasn't worried about the batarian regaining his resolve. Torture was as much psychological warfare as anything, and taking something as fundamental as a sentient's eye whilst they watched was a memory that would persuade them as effectively as the process itself.

"Thank you. First things first, what was the purpose of your experiments here?"

"To-to find applications for the new technologies the Hegemony has discovered on archaeological sites." The batarian said hoarsely.

"Sites related to the Protheans?"

"No; from a civilisation at least a billion years old, and far more advanced than all other known civilisations, including the Protheans. One of the technologies discovered gave the possibility of circumventing 'free will' in a far more efficient, cheap and reliable manner than a neural control chip. That became the focus of our experiments here. Other technologies, perhaps even more powerful, have been uncovered, but-"

"Yes?"

"They're so advanced as to be almost entirely incomprehensible, even to our race's greatest scientific minds. And-"

"And?"

"Despite the potential for advancement, we have had to be cautious. The data is in the records, but the technology... has had an effect on those performing the experiments as well as those participating."

"Where did these technologies come from? Specifically?"

"Most-all- were found on board the Leviathan."

"The Leviathan?"

"A ship, the likes of which have never been seen elsewhere in the galaxy. It was taken by one of our dreadnoughts from the Dis system."

"And have you developed any other technologies to operational status the way you did the neural control technology?"

"No. We haven't had time-you damned humans interfered too soon. But don't worry. We still have the Leviathan; you cannot stop our ascension, and your subsequent destruction."

"We'll see. And what of the earlier squad that attacked these labs?"

"We unleashed the test subjects on them. Once you destroyed the comms tower, they were out of control briefly before the signal reached us again from Command. They went berserk, and killed all but one of them. We have him in the interrogation sub-block. He's been there quite a while now..."

The anaesthetic was wearing off, the batarian's breathing was deepening, and Shepard now had the information he required from the scientist.

"Thank you for your eventual cooperation." He shot the batarian in the head, a quick death, if not technically clean.

"Let's get Kyle and then raze this place." Shepard said to O'Reilly. Together, they left the room and went to find their Commanding Officer.


	12. Cassius Ops

Author note:

Not entirely sure I'm satisfied with this instalment, I may come back and change it at a later date, but to be honest, I was keen to move on to the aftermath... As ever, I would really appreciate feedback.

* * *

Cassius Ops

The Two moved on through the facility, O'Reilly limping, Shepard gradually becoming more and more aware of his various cuts and bruises as time went on and he became more and more exhausted. His movements indicated no such weakness, as apparently languid and effortlessly graceful as ever.

However, he reacted a bit slower than he ordinarily would have when the Irishman and he rounded a corner-

And walked straight into a barrage of rounds from a group of batarian troopers presumably posted there to eliminate the advancing humans and reclaim the data and samples of their work. Both men had their shields wiped out in moments, and Shepard took some staggering rounds to his chest, thankfully missing his coat before he could back up enough to get out of their line of fire.

O'Reilly was knocked from his feet, but managed to open fire in response in spite of this, bringing down a batarian before the batarians ducked into cover. Shepard heard the lull in fire and immediately moved around the corner, pistol raised and knife at the ready, and charged the batarian position.

He made it within five metres of the foe before they realised what was happening, rose up and opened fire. Shepard threw himself down to make use of their own cover, raising his pistol over the barricade and firing several rounds at one of the sources of the bullets, before vaulting the obstacle and bringing down a batarian with a roundhouse kick to the jaw, before turning to hurl his knife into the throat of the alien behind him.

Knives cannot be launched by hand as fast as bullets; before the batarian was killed, his finger pulled the trigger, and held it in a death grip as Shepard's knife entered his brain. Shepard reflexively threw himself to one side, arms thrown up to protect his face-

Not fast enough. Even as he began to move, a trio of rounds seared past his neck, just above where his armour ended, opening bloody gashes up in the left side of his neck. Shepard hit the ground, and realised two things.

First, one of the rounds had severed his carotid artery. He didn't have long to staunch the bleeding before he would lose consciousness and die.

Second, he was not yet alone. A batarian stood over him, grinning as he watched the human as he began to bleed to death. Shepard went for his pistol. The alien stood on his wrist, but was content to simply watch. Shepard began to hyperventilate; his vision darkened. He futilely clapped a hand over the rent section of his skin, applying pressure but failing to slow the process significantly.

_Where the _fuck_ is that bloody Irishman when you need him?_ Shepard went cold as he realised that it was entirely possible that O'Reilly had elected to let him die before finishing the mission alone. Cassius Ops. Betraying one's allies, named after the lesser known friend of Caesar that stabbed him in the back. How ironic if that was to be what killed him...

He looked up at the creature that was so focussed on ensuring his agonising demise, trying to think of something that he could do...

Shepard's eyes rolled back in his head before his lids closed. The blood still flooded from his wound to the rhythm of his frantic but slowing heartbeat, as his breathing grew shallower and shallower. The batarian removed his boot-

And Shepard's eyes snapped open. He was desperately weak from blood loss, and it was a constant struggle to retain consciousness, but he somehow managed to surge to his feet as-

The batarian's head exploded from a couple of quick rounds from O'Reilly, who, Shepard noted, was pale and sweating, swaying on his feet. Then Shepard was doing the swaying, and toppled into the wall, before sluggishly applying medigel to his cut, and giving himself a dose of adrenaline. He knew he needed a transfusion; however, this was still not something that troopers or even medics carried with them, and it would have to wait. He lurched back to his feet, and attempted to shake off the fog that clouded his brain.

"Better late than never, Private." He said, concentrating on not slurring his words, and managing fairly well.

"And I think that is an exceptional example of why snipers shouldn't go in for close quarters combat unless completely necessary."

"It was... necessary..." Shepard retorted ineffectually, having serious trouble maintaining a coherent thought process.

They managed to move on, having to support each other to an extent to maximise efficiency, something that Shepard disliked having to do, to say the least. He realised that greater cautiousness was highly advisable in the future, with a good deal less arrogance; Murphy's didn't discriminate between those that deserved to live and those who didn't; those who deserved to live were those that _did_ live in spite of the situation.

They weren't moving fast enough to keep up with the batarian evac, however, and reached the interrogation block to find it deserted; save for a rather large bomb intended to erase the Hegemony's actions on the wretched moon. There, they also found Major Kyle.

The man was in poor condition.

His face was battered, bloodied and bruised, one of his eyes had been put out, most of his teeth had been removed, and his twisted and mutilated limbs and digits spoke for themselves. Shepard winced inwardly at the sheer crudity of the work; there was no refinement, this was done out of virtually mindless sadism.

Shepard reluctantly grabbed the officer and slung him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift; the Irishman already had the bag containing the samples and data from the experiments, and was in as bad a state as the psychopath, now.

The bomb was hastily hacked by Shepard in order to give the marines time to retrace their steps, giving them fifteen minutes to flee the area and link up with Alliance forces.

Nothing is ever that simple. Their progress was slower than Shepard had estimated, and they were running out of time already as they moved back towards the lab to find an exit that wouldn't send them back through the realm of the test subjects. Shepard retreated inwards, focussing on moving as quickly and efficiently as possible, no longer paying attention to his surroundings. He didn't see that a batarian wasn't dead, only unconscious, and gradually reviving.

He didn't see the alien get up and point a shotgun at his back.

O'Reilly did, and instinctively moved into the way, drawing his gun and opening fire at the same time as the alien. Both fell, still alive. Neither of them would remain so for long.

Shepard turned at the gunshots, his pistol raised. In a moment, he realised what must have happened. He inclined his head in their direction, and simply said "My thanks to you both." He continued on his way, staggered out of the base all of thirty seconds before the bomb detonated, and simply dropped his commanding officer before sinking to the ground alongside him. At that moment, he realised that the data from the batarian experiments was still with O'Reilly, probably separated into its constituent atoms by now. He cursed vehemently, and placed his Karpov pistol against Kyle's forehead out of an irrational sense of rage and vindictiveness.

Kyle chose this inconvenient moment to regain consciousness. He mumbled as he revived, then began to rave and gibber as he took in his surroundings, mostly saying things about the man in front of him, somehow recognising him. The nicest thing that was said, other than Shepard's name, was 'Demon'. Angel Eyes snorted, holstered his sidearm, certain that Kyle was no threat, and considered the man's ravings. Demon. Fallen Angel. That would have been appropriate, if Shepard had ever indeed fallen...

He then called Command for pickup, and activated his GPS distress transponder, before finally allowing himself to lose consciousness.


	13. The Butcher

The Butcher

Shepard regained his awareness to taste the stale air of a sealed environment, probably some sort of spacecraft. His ears picked up a quiet yet constant humming of machinery, and when he briefly opened his eyes to scan the room the grey, metallic bulkheads and bland surfaces confirmed his suspicions. Given the state he had left the batarians in, and the fact that he appeared to have been treated with transfusions as well as further medigel, he felt it was safe to assume that he had been successfully picked up by the Alliance.

Footsteps were heard, and he opened his eyes to regard the medic. Human. He had confirmation; he was safe. He began to sit up, and tried to lift his hands to examine the wounds to his face and torso, and was rapidly forced to revise his analysis of the situation.

He was cuffed to the bed.

"Might I ask whether this is really necessary?" He asked the female doctor, who flinched when she realised that he was awake.

"The admiralty believes so. If you wish to persuade them otherwise, then don't worry. Admiral Hackett wishes to debrief you in person as soon as you are fit."

_So, this is Arcturus... how long was I unconscious?_

"Well, I wouldn't mind getting into some of my own clothes..." Shepard said, looking down at the light blue patient's gown covering his body with evident distaste. He disliked wearing anything that wasn't black, as a rule.

"Certainly." The medic said, with a faint smile, almost despite herself, apparently. Then, she gestured to the door, and Thaddaeus understood why. Two Alliance military police personnel walked in, the pair of them practically armed _gorillas_ in uniform, and released him from his restraints.

"So nice to see that the Alliance has retained its sense of subtlety whilst I was out." Shepard commented, stretching, and then examining his injuries, all of which were healing satisfactorily, although the gashes to his face and neck, it seemed, would scar. Shepard didn't mind in the slightest, and rolled out of bed before dressing himself in black lightweight combat fatigues; the clothes that Shepard always wore these days when he wasn't in armour. Over them went the trenchcoat that someone had left for him with his other possessions, a peculiarly thoughtful gesture when one considered the fact that he was clearly under suspicion of wrongdoing, and possibly facing a court martial.

However, Shepard wasn't too worried; the issue was doubtless related to the fact that Shepard was the only one to survive from his own squad, and the negative light that Kyle's more coherent ravings had surely cast him in would mean that they would want to be cautious until they could find out from him what had actually happened. Shepard already knew what he would tell them.

When he was dressed, the gorillas approached him again, bearing handcuffs. Shepard sighed. "If I was going to run I would have done it already. Is this absolutely necessary?" They didn't answer. Shepard let them put on the handcuffs, binding his wrists in front of him, a reassuring move, if only because it allowed him a level of autonomy and freedom.

They walked him through the corridors, Shepard managing somehow to look casual, nonchalant, in control, walking in a relaxed, loose fashion that made observers forget that he was wearing handcuffs and under escort. It allowed him to observe their reactions towards him in a more scientific fashion. What he was surprised to find was that the reactions were almost universally fear and hostility.

_Surely one rumour of the ravings of a tortured madman couldn't do this? I wasn't exactly loved, but I was acknowledged and accepted, before..._

The MP grunts escorted him out of the medical wing, and took him to the law enforcement and detention hub, before leaving him in an interrogation chamber, predictably, with one of those clichéd two-way mirrors. He was directed to sit down by a grunt, and rewarded the under-evolved ape a disdainful look, before going to lean against the mirror, on the side of the questioner. That earned him a few glares, but his response was a calm look that said 'Try to move me and I'll demonstrate why people _should_ fear me'.

He wasn't made to wait as long as he had expected, him being merely a lowly Corporal, after all. After about five minutes, Admiral Hackett entered, adjutant in tow, though a quick glance and a shake of the head had her remaining outside.

"Admiral Hackett." Shepard acknowledged his presence with a nod that was dangerously close to becoming a mocking bow. "I'd do a proper salute, but your... ah... _boys_ seemed to think it necessary to put handcuffs on me. Despite the fact that with my hands out in front I could do all sorts of damage anyway..."

Hackett sighed heavily, and went to sit down on the prisoner's side of the room, opposite Shepard, before nodding to the gorillas, telling them they could leave.

"You seem to be the only one around here comfortable with the concept of being alone with me." Shepard noted. It made for a pleasing change. "Care to tell me why I'm being treated like a criminal? You're a reasonable man from what I know of you, Hackett; you wouldn't just persecute a war hero on the say so of some poor, deranged sod that became unhinged by torture."

"You're right; I wouldn't. You, however, Shepard are not a war hero. And I am not persecuting you merely on the basis of Major Kyle's ravings."

_Oh, SHIT-_

"O'Reilly..." Shepard breathed, knowing immediately that the man wasn't bluffing. "Son of a-"

"So, want to get in your side of the story? Because from where I sit, it's pretty damning. You got most of your squad killed through recklessness, taking a role that shouldn't even have been yours and usurping the chain of command, even _murdering _a superior officer, using torture and execution on enemies that had surrendered... The list's a long one, Corporal. O'Reilly uploaded _all of it_ to the wireless network in the science hub, and managed to send it to Command before you blew the hub. He was worried that you'd kill him too, mop up the loose ends... or should that be hack them off?"

"Well, I doubt denying those charges will get me anywhere, but just so that we're charging me on the basis of what I did and didn't do, I didn't kill the Irishman. A batarian did it for me, though I can't say I regret that now... or that I ever did..."

Shepard knew that he was more or less _royally_ fucked. There was no point pretending, the only thing to be done now was to go out with some _style_, and maybe buy himself some time whilst he did it. Perhaps Cerberus would still be interested in his services, or the philanthropic Henry Lawson would pull some strings to prevent his talents from going to waste...

"So... does the public know yet? What about the 'dearly beloved'? You must have told them by now, since Kyle's sanity is MIA it's down to you to write the letters, telling them that a psychopathic bastard got their dearly departed killed just to get the job done and stay alive..."

"I have. They've demanded a public trial, leaked details to the media. They're calling you 'The Butcher of Torfan. Obviously they don't know all of the details, just getting your squad killed, executing and torturing prisoners..."

"Hah." Shepard snorted. "Oh, the wretched media, always trying to be evocative to sell a few more stories, and who cares if they sacrifice the truth doing it? I'm not a butcher; I'm a doctor, a surgeon, removing a defect from the galactic gene pool. Did you mention the batarian's mind control gadgetry? Or the fact that they're using ancient and advanced technology the likes of which we've never even _seen_ before, and developing it _solely_ for the purpose of driving humanity to extinction? Or would it have complicated things for the psychopathic scapegoat to have done what he did with _humanity's_ interests at heart, as well as his own? Or didn't O'Reilly even mention that?"

"He did. And, I'll be honest, that was hell down there, Corporal. Even the main strike force agrees, and I'm certain they didn't have it anything like as rough as your boys. I highly doubt that anyone else could have kept those men alive, I doubt that anyone else could have used those men in the way that you did to get the job done. This galaxy is a rough place, Shepard. Humanity's going to have to be rough to keep on top, and we could have used you, as much as I hate to say it, but we need a scapegoat. This is as much about politics as anything else; you're in the way of the Alliance's agenda. If we want a seat on the council, we can't be seen to protect a war criminal."

Shepard now understood the coat. It was a not-so-subtle attempt to get people to associate him with the 20th century Nazi secret police, the Gestapo. Well, if they expected him to play the xenophobe, they were going to be disappointed.

"And as such, the trial's going to have to be public."

Hackett nodded. A gleam entered Shepard's eye.

"Well, this is going to be _fun_..."


	14. Cerberus Custodiis

Author note:

Well, here it is, the end of the story. Sorry this chapter's so short, but it's basically an epilogue. I will be continuing with this universe in another story, which I intend to call 'Mass Effect: Vindication'. I know other people have used it as a title already, but it's actually rather appropriate for my purposes...

* * *

Cerberus Custodiis

Miranda watched him on the data terminal in her office, her cerulean blue eyes betraying as much emotion as agates, in spite of the turmoil within.

She hadn't known how to react when she discovered that Shepard wasn't dead, when he had joined the Alliance. From an evolutionary perspective, obviously it was a good thing; genetic biotic potential was something that the human race could certainly use, and his other abilities would certainly help to establish and preserve human dominance, or at the very least security, in the galaxy, if applied correctly.

On a personal level, however, she was torn. She'd liked him to an extent, despite his infuriating paranoia and cynicism, and the fact that he'd been rather less affected by her than she would have liked, yet his survival and sudden reappearance on the galactic stage could only mean one thing; a deal with her father.

She hated him for that, and was disgusted with herself for being surprised. Shepard came before all others, in his world; his own survival was paramount. She knew that one of the stipulations of the deal with her father would be that he could call on the psychopath if necessary, and she knew that he would only do so in two circumstances; if he found her, or her sister. Her father delighted in fabricating such twisted scenarios; it appealed to both the narcissist and the megalomaniac in him. He played chess with the galaxy as his board.

She knew what those scenarios would lead to, as well; she would kill Shepard, or he would kill her. She wasn't going to hold back just because he was possibly the best humanity had to offer. If he killed her and took her sister, he would be worthy to continue and (hopefully) serve humanity's interests, at least as long as they coincided with his own. If not, well, humanity would have a more devoted servant in her, and she would be able to serve her species better, being more worthy of survival.

Darwinism made things simple, in many ways...

But still she wished that it wouldn't turn out that way. A futile hope. She knew that Shepard would survive this little spat with the Alliance; if nothing else her father wouldn't sacrifice such a valuable piece for the sake of convenience.

She doubted even _that_ would be necessary, however, returning her attention to the screen. Shepard was being questioned by the media, and clearly not taking the situation too seriously.

"_I am not a xenophobe. Ok, well I am, but I treat humans the same way. I don't discriminate on the basis of species._ _And another thing. The Butcher of Torfan? Evocative, certainly, but not really my modus operandi. I don't like crudity, there's too much of it in the galaxy even _without_ me contributing. I try to keep things refined. I understand your compulsive urge to try to be evocative, and I can see that Surgeon doesn't have the same negative connotations, but you could at least _try_ for some accuracy..."_

Miranda snorted and shook her head, her lips twitching almost involuntarily. He was being charged as a war criminal for what he did to the _batarians_; he wasn't the only one who found the situation amusing, in an ironic sort of way. Of course, it was all just politics to the Alliance, so desperate for the bloody Council's approval...

The trial was being delayed until the cleanup of Torfan was finished, the funerals had taken place, and the media had been given ample time to milk the story. Apparently, as a gesture of sympathy to the area, the Alliance Admiralty had decided (aka been told by the Council to just _do_ it) to hold the trial on Elysium.

She knew that she would be watching...


End file.
